Just Not Cricket

In the UK, there are various signs of the changing seasons which are a more reliable indicator of the year’s progress than the weather. You know summer’s here when pubs advertise beer gardens and barbeques, and people in white attempt to play cricket – with varying degrees of success – on village greens and commons up and down the country – all despite dismal skies, glowering clouds and days of constant rain. For me, the definitive sign is that the Chapter Runs begin. In early June, I had a working bike and relatively free weekend, so I went along.

The weather forecast was right for once, and the day dawned dry and clear, which automatically meant the number of participating bikes tripled. This is why we don’t pre-warn the final pub about numbers for lunch until the pre-ride briefing.

We meandered – all 43 of us – out of London and down through Surrey and over the South Downs, wending our way past several greens and commons dotted with cricketers and weekend footballers (well, it is the World Cup).  They tend to look skyward, confused, when they hear a rolling thunder approach.

We ended up at The Cricketers Arms in Wisborough Green, where we took over the pub and completely wrecked the locals’ plans for a quiet lunch.